Throughout his ten year career, the filmmaker and artist Narvir Singh (Punjabi, b. 1989 London, UK) has collaborated with key figures from a range of creative disciplines, experimenting with the relationship between poetry, visual art, music and theatre.

A short teaser for the upcoming feature film production of ‘Their Last Stand’. Back this film through our crowd-funding programme and help mould this untold narrative at: http://www.naujawani.com/their-last-s&#8230;

‘Their Last Stand’ is the story of how twelve Sikhs faced the invasion of Darbar Sahib Amritsar, by the Indian State in June 1984. Despite being from differing backgrounds, they find themselves encamped together and forced to come to terms with the reality of the situation that they are in: besieged, without provisions, and facing a certain death. Amidst the questions, lamentations and struggles that each of them goes through in the hours that they are together, is a growing realisation that they have a decision to make – the most important one of their lives.

The first step in liquidating a people is to erase its memory. Destroy its books, its culture, its history.

I’ve been planning this for months, saving up all I have, now I’ve packed my bags and said bye to mum and dad. Got a job in the city and todays the day I leave, never believed I could achieve all of this at 18. Before any journey starts I go to the Gurdwara, matha tek ke then I’m ready to proceed further. I got dreams and ambitions and I pray for success, for my family’s health and for the Lords blessing. Now I’m on the train and we’re moving, thinking about my life and how it’s slowly started improving. I hope that I can make some new friends when I get there. 7 hours cooped up in here I need some fresh air. Can’t explain it but for some reason a nervous feeling in me, the train slows down as we’re pulling into Delhi. I’m looking at the platform and I see a body burning and the mob gets on the train shouting grab the boy with the turban.

When that mother would have seen and experienced that hurt, when that child was screamed out, when her own husband who was a Indian army soldier who used to salute India, who’s head was smashed with weapons and crushed without any remorse – think what would’ve that wife experienced and suffered who had seen her husband dying in agony this way?

I remember being confused cos there were just the 4 of us, me my mum and dad and older brother it was always love. Around the way they called me Mr Singhs youngest. They knew him as a soldier cos he fought for our country. But mum said that people that took him they didn’t care. I knew she was lying when she said I shouldn’t be scared. What’s stronger than a mothers bond? Why did she start crying when I ask her where my brothers gone? Or what they’ve done with dad? Are either of them ever coming back? Why did people say we killed their mother when we didn’t? Why are all my uncles and cousin brothers in prison? When none of us are criminals and when they came here why did you tell them I’m a little girl and tie my hair in plaits? You said cos I’m a boy and they’d have killed me for that.

In our house a river of blood is flowing – for 3 days dead bodies lay. I went to alert the general, to the police, who didn’t I go to? Nobody picked up the bodies. 3 days later I gathered items from the house and cremated my son and husband at home. I am deeply thankful to those Sikhs, Christians, Muslims and Hindus who at that time helped or saved Sikhs – their humanity and conscious was alive at that time – I am thankful to those people from the bottom of my heart.

I witnessed murder, a river of blood. Scratch that it was a slaughter, the image is stuck permanently in my mind of women and sons, fathers and daughters what have these innocents done? I tried to report it I tried to tell the police, they told me there’s a curfew and to get off the streets. I don’t understand, why did they just stand and watch? In my heart I know we’re all he same cos I’m a man of God. They said they’d kill me and my family if I tried to help. This is my idea of hell. I thought that I had failed. My Sikh neighbor lived by himself, I snuck into his house when I found him he was all alone. We had to hide him from the killers when we brought him home. I saved a life but so many people saw me run. I just wish there was more that I could’ve done. I just wish there was more that I could’ve done.

Hurt should not be inflicted on any human. Not an innocent Hindu nor any innocent Muslim nor a Christian nor any innocent Sikh should die in this country. It is our duty, it is the laws duty, it is our parliaments duty that they should promote unity and foster a sense of brotherhood. If not today tomorrow – it doesn’t take long to become a slave.

Kismet landed me here, hunna
Born with a silver karshi, hunna
Sada desh, SAD boss
No bravado dad owns it all
Jameen, malls and State laws
Even got the Jathedar on call
Panth Rattan, dad’s on top
Fakhar-e-qaum, fakharring non-stop
Took care of business in ’73
Rat-a-tat-tat you didn’t see
Outlasted all, made deals for fun
’84 arrived, we picked up the gun
Pointed it at y’all, bought the farms
Smack, feem and desi
We running this State ’til empty
What you gonna do belaati?
Take me to court, then you’ll see
Get out of jail
free card
Monopoly is life for us
wherever we are

The Secret Story of The Singh Nod is a short video revealing a greeting that is being made the whole World over every single day, but which is also going unnoticed. It is akin to the handshakes of secret societies or the mutual acknowledgement made between 50-something year old white men in corporate boardrooms when passing over women for promotions. Intrepid explorer and anthropologist Sri Davinder Singh Atteh-da-bora went on to the ground in London to follow a Singh who makes these greetings – or ‘nods’ – so that the secret story could be brought out for all to see.

“I wasn’t born there but it feels like it’s Home
stranger in a land that doesn’t see me as its own,
The stories I could tell the places that I’ve been,
The faces that are lost and use my words just to be seen”

INTRO
I wasn’t born there but it feels like its home
Stranger in a land that doesn’t see me as its own
The stories I could tell the places that I’ve been
The faces that are lost and use my words just to be seen

VERSE 1
She was born here this land is her home
She plays with some dirt in an alley on her own
Kneading it like bread making shapes out of it
What’s so fascinating to her is something that I don’t get
Maybe I’m not supposed to
Her innocence is present I can’t put it in my vocals
But she wore a pink dress that was permanently grey
It had never been washed I thought she’d turn to me and say
“What you looking at?” but she was so engrossed
In the dirt she was playing with it covered up her toes
I wondered if her Mum would come and tell her to stop
Was her Mum even aware of where her daughter was?
Or was she lost herself?
Or maybe she had lost her health
and now the only family she had was some foster help
I should’ve given money to her, How much does it cost to help?
Justified it as she was a stranger and I stopped myself
And that’s what I regret the most
I could have went to get her clothes
Before I thought to get involved
My cousin started talking slowly took me inside
And before I turned around she stopped and looked me in my eyes like

I hope that you remember me

VERSE 2
If she grew up in a Western country would her life be any different?
Would her Dad be around? Or would be too busy drinking?
After a hard days work he hasn’t got the time
To be a Father to her, he thinks she’s doing fine
and does he even care? She’s born into a culture
that doesn’t value women, Would he rather have a son or
does he see himself as someone who let her live?
He knew she was a girl inside the womb and she exists
Because he gave her permission.. How sick is that?
And she knows this cos he told her now she’s tryna pay him back,
With no positive male there to be her guiding light
All she’s got is reality TV every single night,
Always online now its more than a hobby
Posting pictures every few hours showing parts of her body
Self worth determined by the amount of likes she gets
All she hears is hate from the voices inside her head
Nobody to tell her she’s beautiful
and to save herself for someone that is suitable
Who hasn’t been her age and felt like they’re a loser too?
I know I have and I know that time is brutal too
What I imagined seeing that four year old
in dirty clothes playing in the street with a runny nose
I hope I’m wrong and her life is filled with beauty
close my eyes and I can see her face is looking to me like

I want to seek the truth
Don’t want to hurt no soul
It ain’t easy to do
So we learn as we go
They say it’s hard to be nice
When your fear’s so strong
Asking me questions like
Why do you let your beard grow long?
That don’t deserve an answer
Tryna elevate the scene that I’m a part of
The temptation is to be a martyr
But the sins of the son can curse the father
So we live for the moment trust in the future
The past is a memory it can’t control us
Earned my respect that’s cojones
You don’t deserve it like a bankers bonus
Retweet that, he’s back with his beanie hat
This one’s for you if you’ve got Fulfilling Ambition in your CD rack

How many times have I done this
Since 2005 I have run this
Maybe I’m out of my mind but I want this
Been a couple thousand of mine maybe hundreds
Songs of mine that can be found in abundance
You could try breaking me down with the truncheons
But I pray making the sounds of a hunter
I ain’t never fly around like a vulture
A soldier they can’t tie down to a bunker
I fly out in the clouds with the thunder
Astounding when you see the crowd in a wonder
Fire still burning I found my hunger
I was lost for a second but I’m found again
My Ego told me to write you a letter so I took out my book and I found a pen
Voices in my head something’s telling me to write it down
Ego’s getting bigger I’m too powerless to fight it now
All I got is choices, All I got is choices
Made a date with destiny but somehow I missed the appointment
All I got is choices, All I got is choices,
Made a date with destiny and now there’s no way to avoid it

CHORUS

Living in a bubble of them saying they feel you
You don’t reply back they say that you’re real rude
And I just want to eat I ain’t talking about real food
Don’t mean the Bible when I say verses heal you
The Lord above is the person I appeal to
Never worshipped money it’s only you that I kneel to
Too much of anything you love can kill you
And I fail to see the reason I’m compared to
Don’t make me laugh, you’re a daydreamer
You ain’t worked as hard as me or raised the bar
So bow down and taste the tar
On the road I’ve got to go don’t chase my car
Telling me to slow down what the brakes are for
They tried to put me in a box that I’ma take apart
Who you think I wrote fading for?
I was lost and I stayed indoors
Crazy thoughts plus creative force
Equals a beauty we were craving for
Now I’m ready for the world let’s arrange a tour
It didn’t take 7 days like Craig David or
Makaveli but we praise the legend
Touch the feet of the elders who gave their blessing
Loved music since age 11
And 18 years later she stayed a best friend
I believe when they say it’s destined
Ain’t mad at anybody who came and left him
Took baby steps
And now I feel like Charles Xavier leader of the Asian X-Men

===================================
LYRICS:
Weellll it is a way to rid to Sikhs of their Nationality,
it is a way to rid to Sikhs of their Nationality
It is a way to stop Sikhs knowing Truth and history…

I watch your pennies drop // as you matha-tek
Counting up the money that’s the gas paid
Built a marble palace up in here — and it must contain
10% spent on plush fittings ‘stead of pain
Your place // my place // this Gurdwara is shared space
Everybody welcome just as long as you’re from my race
We’re seeing out the plan // spreading words of Truth
But only on Sunday from 9AM to Noon
Here we out West// Yeah we fitting in
Business deal making// doing it to win
G-G-G-Gurdwara // Committee-wale
Vote-an and gimmie money, I’m the Punjabi Stalin!

Mercedes Benzy // Your sangat they so hungry //
even though they know, I’ll never give up the kursi x2

Yuh! We’ll book your wedding // take your money then hath-jorr // Bye!
Not like you asked how Anand Karaj works or why!
Ain’t like it’s for us to ask if you’re a Sikh, guy
Once we got your fees there’s no refunds!
What we want is your cash money
All we want is your cash money
Why should we care if you ain’t aware
of the laavan you take in the ceremony?
Siropa beti // and you son
We give these away // that’s you done
Now it’s time to make more cash
Tell your guests about the building fund
Marble // Ceiling // under-floor heating
We want to add a heli-pad when Pardhaan comes for meeting x2

Mercedes Benzy // Your sangat they so thirsty // doing simran on
our carpets cos this year we hosting barsi

Mercedes Benzy // Your sangat they so hungry //
even though they know, I’ll never give up my kursi

Dress in suits, shirt and tie
We never clean toilets that’s why
We never make langar and that’s why
We never read paath that’s why!
Talk to the sangat like they’re lower caste
We are committee // they only count last
Tie up our dhaaris with netting and taatees
Dress up our wives in ten thousand pound saris
Driving 4x4s this is our Sardari
Our pals play kabaddi they’re gangsters and yardies
Next generation we grooming them up
Turning resistance into gup-shup
Youth say its elders, but we not corrupt
It’s not your turn kids, we’ve seen you erupt
We’re not intolerant bundeh, we’re squabbling lafengeh
We only know pungeh, we’re Sikhs on Sunday…!

The forced disappearance of Punjabi intellectuals over the last 30 years is the unspoken war that has been fought since Indian Armed forces invaded Darbar Sahib in Amritsar. This orchestrated campaign by those in power to permanently silence key academics, scholars, authors, playwrights, poets, journalists and students has denied Punjabi society of those who might have helped it to advance. Men who have called themselves Sikhs have sat alongside others who merely don the garb, to abduct targeted people as they walk in broad daylight. It is shocking to witness, let alone endure. But what is more shocking is that the Punjabi society which remains untouched sits silently still and few step up to replace the intellectuals, save for those who echo the status quo.

Bobby Rai, an ordinary young man of a Punjabi-Sikh background was murdered in highly suspicious circumstances as he walked home from his local train station. He had become one of the most recognisable spokesmen in the #iPledgeOrange movement the previous year and his murder came as a shock at a time when Sikh activism in the UK had mostly dissipated. A lack of suspects and rumours of an investigative cover-up leads the 9-6 Network to investigate ‘Who Killed Bobby Rai?’

A short docu-fiction inspired by real life events and in tribute to the #iPledgeOrange movement.